


Malibu Nights

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, I don't know what else to tag, I'm Sorry, M/M, Minor Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, it is just... very angsty, wolfstar angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24715984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The four times that Remus Lupin says goodbye.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	Malibu Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this from a prompt, "So this is goodbye?" and also the song Malibu Nights by LANY.
> 
> This is also a birthday present to my friend gaeilgelupin, because she loves angst HAHA. I hope you like this!!
> 
> Thank you to eiiri for reading through the fic :)

3rd November, 1981

_There's no reason, there's no rhyme_

_I found myself blindsided by_

_A feeling that I've never known_

_I'm dealing with it on my own_

_Phone is quiet, walls are bare_

_I drink myself to sleep, who cares?_

_No one even has to know_

_I'm dealing with it on my own_

Remus didn’t know how long he'd been staring at the television. Now broken, from when he had thrown the empty (and already smashed, actually) firewhiskey bottle at it. He buried his head in his hands, not caring about the glass shards piercing his pale, sunken skin.

The physical pain was honestly a welcome distraction from the gaping hole in his heart.

If he was being frank with himself, he didn’t even know what time it was. He hadn’t bothered looking at the rusty old clock since it chimed at midnight. He barely even noticed _anything_ these days, anyway.

The only ringing in his ears for the past, Merlin knows how long, had been the last four words he had remembered saying to _him_.

_“So this is goodbye?” He choked out, his chest heaving and his forehead pressed desperately against the other man’s. He was trembling so hard, trying to savour their last few moments together for a long time, and he felt warm hands cupping his cheeks firmly, a stark contrast to his icy cold skin._

_“No,” The firm voice only sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down his cheeks. How the raven haired man was managing his emotions so well despite Remus being the one having to leave was beyond him, but he reveled in his lover’s certainty anyway. “You’ll come back. You will. I’ll be waiting. Every day, every hour, every minute. I’ll never stop waiting for you.”_

_The last few words were a mere whisper, promises weaved with salty tears and aching hearts._

_“I love you.”_

Remus inhaled sharply as the pain in his chest ripped through his soul, and he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears from cascading down his face. 

None of the transformations he had ever undergone could match up to the pain he was feeling then. It was as though a silver knife had been plunged into his chest, and twisted, and buried deeper, making his vision blurry and his chest constrict to a point where he could barely breathe.

It was unbearable. 

Despite the celebrations on the street below, which were well into their third day, Remus couldn’t bear to rejoice along with the rest of the wizarding world.

How could he?

How could he, when he had lost the four people he’d loved the most in the span of a few days?

The world around him was spinning, and he curled up into a ball, choking and heaving as years of memories flashed through his mind. His lanky frame was still weak and sore from the month long mission he had just come back from two days prior, and he had injuries he hadn’t managed to tend to while he was on the run, but at that point, the pain had subsided to a dull ache in his strained muscles and the weary clicking of his broken joints. He was too exhausted to even care, after not having slept since he had returned back.

He wished he hadn’t. 

He wished he hadn’t returned back to this. For one whole month, all that sustained him as he hid, and assimilated, and fought, and ran, was the hope that everyone would be safe back at home. He woke up from dreams of the old days when they had all been in Hogwarts together, and fell asleep praying that that had been another day where the people he loved were alive and well. 

Above all, he had prayed that _he_ would be fine. Being the Secret Keeper had put him in greater danger than many others in the Order, and they had fought countless times over it before he had finally given in. He hadn’t wanted the other man to take up the role, obviously, but at the same time, they had refused to trust anyone else. 

_It would be too dangerous_ , he had shouted, _they’re going to come for you first._

_Let them_ , the retort had been, _I’d rather die than betray my friends._

A laugh bubbled out of his throat. How ironic, he thought wryly.

Remus’ body slid further sideways, down onto the black leather couch in the middle of the living room of their shared flat. He watched with morbid satisfaction as the blood on his grimy palms dripped onto the wooden floor below.

He noticed a flash of gold on his left hand, and suddenly overcome with anger, he yanked the offending item off his finger and flung it hard across the room, not even bothering to check where it had landed.

After a while, as his vision swam in and out of focus, Remus felt his eyelids getting heavier as he succumbed to the sheer exhaustion, the physical pain and the heartache all clamping down on his body and soul. 

His last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was hoping that he’d never wake up again.

******

11th November, 1981

_I got way too much time to be this hurt_

_Somebody help, it's getting worse_

_What do you do with a broken heart?_

_Once the light fades, everything is dark_

_Way too much whiskey in my blood_

_I feel my body giving up_

_Can I hold on for another night?_

_What do I do with all this time?_

The blinding pain shooting through Remus’ body wasn’t one that he was unaccustomed to.

Besides gritting his teeth and gripping tightly onto the floor so tightly that he felt splinters in his fingers, he couldn’t do anything other than let the waves of pain crash over him again and again as his body prepared for the transformation due in an hour.

Remus knew he should have apparated to the Shack by now, but he hadn’t wanted to go there any earlier than he absolutely had to. It would be the first full moon in years that he’d be alone. The first of many to come. He couldn’t bear to go there, knowing that he’d never see his pack there ever again. _His pack._

Not for the first time, he hoped that the wolf would tear him apart for good this time. 

Eleven days.

Eleven days and Remus was still fluctuating between wanting to be in denial, and wanting to just accept the truth. 

A part of him knew that he had to come to his senses, to face the reality of losing his friends and being betrayed by his lover, to _stop living_ in that bubble he had conjured in his mind to protect his heart. A part of him knew that it would’ve been sooner or later that the spy would make a move, and that none of them had been safe for as long as Voldemort had still been alive.

Yet, he craved— _oh, how he craved_ —for simpler times, for when their only care in the world had been whether they had completed Professor Mcgonagall’s essays, and (on James’ part) whether Lily would ever give him the time of day. He craved for the snowball fights in Hogsmeade, craved for the warm crackling of fire in the Gryffindor common room as they curled up on the couches talking about nothing and everything, craved for Filch’s furious shouts even, as he chased them down the corridors, threats of detentions that their _grandchildren_ would have to attend on their behalf hurled at them. 

He wanted so badly to believe that all that had happened over the past week and a half was merely a bad dream, that he had been badly concussed during his mission, and that he was just hallucinating the whole thing.

He wanted most to believe that the love of his life hadn’t just betrayed him.

Remus pushed himself into a sitting position with some difficulty and reached for the half finished bottle of firewhiskey on the coffee table with a shaky hand. His fingers closed around the still cold glass, and he sloppily lifted it to his mouth, barely wincing as the liquid burned his throat.

Slamming the bottle back down onto the low table, he leaned his head back onto the couch as his body shook with the residual tremors from earlier. The clock hung up on the wall seemed to be swaying, but after several deep breaths, Remus realised that it was merely his head spinning from the one and three quarter bottles that he had finished in the past twelve hours, on an empty stomach and no sleep, once again. 

His eyes fluttered close as he felt the all too familiar burn in his eyes, and the closing up of his raw, hoarse throat. Remus didn’t even try fighting the tears anymore. They never did seem to stop.

A sudden wave of nausea hit, and he barely managed to lean over to the side before he retched, panting heavily as a mixture of the brownish liquid and saliva splattered on the floor and burned his throat, the alcohol that he had been chugging down coming right back up and out of his body. 

Remus couldn’t find it in him to _scourgify_ the mess away; he just buried his face into the sleeve of his tattered shirt that he hadn’t bothered changing since he had stumbled back into the apartment on the first of November. The morning after he had lost everything.

He hadn’t even _known_ that they were gone until the morning after. He had been out of touch with the Order since he had left at the end of September, trying to hunt down Greyback and the other wolves in the pack, hoping to spy on them and bring back valuable information. But then, he had gone and gotten himself found out, and he had spent about a week on the run, unable to apparate safely due to the extent of his injuries.

He had finally made it back to his neighbourhood on foot on a Sunday morning, and everywhere around him, he could see people celebrating and rejoicing. He had been confused, worried and hopeful all at once. Stumbling the rest of the way to his shared flat with— _the flat_ , a million thoughts had been running through his head. 

None of them had prepared him for the emptiness of the apartment. 

None of them had prepared him for the headline of the Daily Prophet that he had found lying on a bench in the nearby park.

None of them had prepared him for the bone-chilling terror coursing through his veins when he had, by some miracle, successfully apparated to Godric’s Hollow without splinching, to see everything for himself.

It was as though his whole body had shut down then. Short-circuited. Broken down. He hadn’t been able to stop his body from collapsing at the sight of James, lying right there in the middle of the hallway, his amber eyes wide behind the broken glasses still on his face and wild, black hair splayed out on the carpeted floor, like ink spilling on a piece of parchment. Remus hadn’t been able to look at him for another second.

He had flung his battered body over James’, cries of anguish piercing the still air around them as he clutched onto his best friend’s shirt, the screams of _no, James, no_ getting louder and louder as hysteria rose up in Remus’ chest. His stomach had dropped further at the thought of Lily, sending a searing pain coursing through his body. 

He had barely managed to peel himself off James’ lifeless body and stumbled up the stairs, ignoring the pain shooting up his body, when a flash of flaming red hair peeking out of the open doorway beside the top of the stairs had caught his eye. He had tripped, and crawled up the last few steps, dropping to his elbows and knees in front of Lily’s body. He hadn’t even dared to look at her face. He had just pressed his lips to her cold forehead, eyes squeezed shut, arms thrown around her unmoving shoulders, and wept.

_Fuck_ , he had whispered over and over again. He didn’t think he could ever stand up again. The grief of losing his parents two years ago had taken a huge toll on him, especially since he had just graduated and joined the Order, but losing two of his best friends had brought about a whole different kind of loss. One that he never would’ve wished on his worst enemies. It tore at him from inside out, clawing at his chest and threatening to drag him below shore. His head had been pounding against his skull and he hadn’t stopped shaking since he had entered his own empty apartment, and suddenly he had realised that they hadn’t won the war at all. Or, at least _he_ hadn’t. 

He had lost everything.

_So this is goodbye_ , he had murmured some time later, voice broken and torn, as he had apparated out of Godric’s Hollow at the sound of Aurors arriving.

Remus wasn’t sure if he wanted to live in a world where James and Lily Potter were not.

The old clock on his wall chimed, a haunting reminder that snapped Remus out of his thoughts and memories. _Fuck._

Mustering all the courage and strength he had, Remus pushed all other thoughts out of his mind and apparated away to the Shrieking Shack with a _pop_.

Miles away and mere minutes later, the broken howl of a lone wolf could be heard, aching for a past long gone and an innocence long lost.

******

10th June 1994

_Every thought's when it gets late_

_Put me in a fragile state_

_I wish I wasn't going home_

_Dealing with it on my own_

_I'm praying but it's not enough_

_I'm done, I don't believe in love_

_Learning how to let it go_

_Dealing with it on my own_

The door to Professor Dumbledore’s office banged open.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

The older man had jumped, startled by the slightly manic tone in his former student’s voice. His hand paused from where it was hovering over a blank piece of parchment, quill in his hand. He didn’t notice the ink slowly dripping onto the parchment.

“Knew what, Mr Lupin?” He questioned carefully, hesitantly.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Remus growled, amber eyes blazing. “You _knew_ he was innocent. You _fucking_ knew. And you let him rot in that _godforsaken shithole_ for _twelve_ years.”

“I can assure you, Mr Lupin—” Professor Dumbledore began, but Remus cut him off with three big strides and a slam of his fist on the large mahogany desk. The wood splintered, burying itself in his knuckles, but he was too filled with rage to care.

“ _Don’t. Lie. To. Me._ ” Remus’ volume grew exponentially with every word. His anger was radiating off him in strong waves of magic. 

“I can _tell_ when you’re lying, _Professor_ Dumbledore,” He spat. The headmaster had the nerve to give him a sheepish, apologetic look.

“You must forgive me, Mr Lupin. Back then, there had been more… Pressing matters to look into. Harry’s safety had been of utmost importance at the time, and with the war ending, I’m afraid I might have overlooked Mr Black’s case. On top of that,” He rushed out, not giving Remus the chance to interrupt. “The evidence against Mr Black had been too damning. Mr Pettigrew had left little opening for Mr Black to be ruled as innocent.”

“Do you even _hear_ yourself right now?” Remus exploded before Professor Dumbledore had even finished his pathetic explanation. “You let an _innocent_ man get thrown into jail for twelve years! _Twelve years._ And you didn’t even _try_ to save him. You knew, but you let it happen anyway. What the fuck.”

Remus clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent a choked sob from escaping as his body shook, with fury and sorrow and disbelief, all at once. His emotions were swirling inside his chest, the waves crashing ferociously against his heart as he struggled to regain the ability to form a coherent sentence.

“Twelve years he was in Azkaban, and you didn’t have a _single_ moment to spare for him?” Remus’s voice was nothing more than a broken whisper this time, too overcome by emotion. “And even then, you almost let him be taken away and had the Dementor’s Kiss performed on him last night. How— How could you even… I don’t understand—”

“Did you even care about him? Or was he just another _unfortunate_ victim of your twisted game? Was he so unimportant to you, so— so _useless_ to you, that you just let him _slip_ through your fingers? Was that it, Professor Dumbledore? _Would he have innocently died for your cause, just like how countless others died for Voldemort’s?_ ”

No amount of self control would’ve been able to prevent Remus’ tears from rolling down his cheeks. His heart was shattering into a million pieces. “He deserved so much better. You fucking _abandoned_ him when he needed you most. You’re such a fucking arsehole.”

He turned around, not able to meet the eyes of the man he had always looked up to since he had first been offered a place in Hogwarts, the man he had always admired up until the day before, the man he had thought to be the greatest wizard of all time.

He took a few steps forward, before taking in a shaky breath. “I fucking quit.”

He didn’t bother closing the door on the way out.

He was still trembling with adrenaline from the night before, and rage directed at Professor Dumbledore. Above all, he felt a deep aching sorrow for all the years that Sirius had paid for a crime he didn’t even commit. Sirius, who at twenty one, had already suffered enough mistreatment for a lifetime, but was still dealt with another twelve years of undeserved pain and torture. 

Remus crumpled to the floor, somewhere along a deserted corridor, burying his face in his hands as he wept for the man he _still_ loved after all these years, and for the unfairness of it all.

The insurmountable guilt welled up and consumed Remus. He should have visited Sirius. He should have fought harder. He should have done _more_. Over the years, his resolve had crumbled, and he’d lost faith in the Ministry’s ability to do anything right, but that was no excuse for his lack of trying. He should have stood up for Sirius, and he shouldn’t have let go. 

Despite the residual pain he felt from the night before, Remus sat there, unmoving, for the rest of the day, buried under his demons.

He didn’t go back to the flat he had been residing in all these years. He _couldn’t_ go back, now knowing how _terribly_ wrong he had been about his ex lover, and knowing that he would be alone while the other man had gone into hiding.

As he checked in to the Leaky Cauldron late that night, still sore and restless, he let himself be overwhelmed by the whirlwind of thoughts wreaking havoc in his head. 

He didn’t even have an inkling of where Sirius could have gone. He was, after all, still a wanted man. Any attempt at contacting him was just putting him in danger of being caught. Remus shuddered as a surge of protectiveness rose up in his chest. Maybe it was better that he was left unfound. He just hoped that he was alright after being torn up by the wolf the previous night.

Gingerly lying down on the cold, hard four poster bed, taking care not to aggravate his own wounds further, Remus stared blankly at the ceiling as he let the weight of the past twenty four hours’ events wash over him. _Fuck_. He curled up onto his side.

He was so _stupid_.

If he had remembered to take the goddamn Wolfsbane potion, Peter would’ve been in Azkaban by now. 

If he had remembered to take the goddamn Wolfsbane potion, Sirius would’ve been free.

If he had remembered to take the goddamn Wolfsbane potion, he would’ve been able to keep his job.

He blinked.

Well, _yes_ , but he wouldn’t have chosen to keep it anyway.

He sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

The deep longing in his heart was almost enough to make him wish that he hadn’t returned to Hogwarts. Now, after everything that happened, knowing that Sirius was innocent, knowing that it had been his fault that the man he loved couldn’t be free, knowing that the past twelve years had been a complete and utter lie, Remus could barely carry the weight of his guilt and the need to see Sirius once again.

Would Sirius even _want_ to see him, after all this? How could Sirius ever forgive him?

Would he _ever_ see him again? He didn’t know. Merlin, how he wanted to. But he didn’t think he deserved the opportunity. 

He didn’t think that any amount of apologising would heal the emotional trauma that Sirius had experienced in Azkaban. He didn’t think he could bear the look of disappointment and hurt that he would inevitably give him. He didn’t think he could bring himself to listen to the strangled whispers of _why didn’t you believe me, why didn’t you come look for me, I waited for you, I never stopped waiting for you_.

It was all too much.

_So this is goodbye_? He wondered as he buried his face in his pillow, his teeth clamped down hard on his bottom lip.

It took a few minutes for Remus to notice the tapping on the window pane. Confused, he got up to let the small barn owl in, with the heel of one hand pressed down on his chest to alleviate the slicing pain in his heart. He untied the rolled up piece of parchment from the owl’s leg and padded back to the bed, dropping down onto it. The owl cocked its head to the side and hooted once.

Remus’ breath hitched as he recognised the familiar, albeit much messier, handwriting as he unravelled the parchment inch by inch. 

With wide amber eyes, he looked up at the owl, and back down again. 

A few silent moments went by as Remus read the letter. When he looked back up at the owl again, there were tears shining in his eyes, but also a small smile on his lips.

He watched the owl fly off into the sunrise half an hour later, with a steaming mug of earl grey tea cradled in his hands. He lifted the mug to his lips, the pleasantly bitter taste of the black tea mixed with the saltiness of his tears. He laughed softly, in disbelief, and grinned into his mug, allowing himself to just _hope_ for once.

******

19th June, 1996

_I drive circles under street lights_

_Nothing seems to clear my mind_

_I can't forget_

_It's inside my head, so_

_I drive, chasing Malibu nights_

_Nothing seems to heal my mind_

_I can't forget_

Remus ignored all the owls tapping impatiently on his window. He didn’t even register himself stumbling towards the bed. His _old_ bed in his parents’ _old_ house.

There was no way he could go back to Grimmauld Place anymore. Not after last night.

His body shook with silent tremors, feeling the coldness of the room around him matching that in his heart. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he laughed at his younger self.

He had been so foolish, so naive, to think that everything would work out.

He had been naive at eleven, when he had seen the world in a new light, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he would someday be accepted for who he was. That one day, he wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

He had been naive at fifteen, when he had been promised that he’d never have to go through another full moon alone ever again. He had believed that his pack would always be there to keep him safe, and in return he’d vowed to keep them safe too.

He had been naive at eighteen, when he had fallen in love with his best friend on the rooftop of the Astronomy Tower, their legs dangling over the ledge as they talked, under the moon and the stars. He had told himself that _that_ would be the one good thing to have happened in the midst of the war.

He had been naive at twenty, when he had proposed, whispered vows to protect and to be faithful, to wait no matter how long it’d take, to always love despite whatever may be thrown their way. He had been ready to fight in the war, ready to do whatever it would take to make sure that he’d be able to live up to his promises.

He had been naive at thirty-three, when he had found love again, had given himself the chance to open up again, had forgiven himself for the mistakes he had made when he was younger. He had reignited the fire between them with renewed determination, eager to compensate for the lost years.

In hindsight, he thought that he had been most foolish at thirty-three, when it finally seemed as though the storm had passed, when he had let his guard down completely despite everything that had been going on. He had been _so stupid_ to believe that things would work out, when all his life, they never had. He had been too blinded by the familiarity of hope and longing, that he had forgotten and pushed to the back of his mind all the signs that the storm was _just getting started_.

He buried his face in the thin, grimy sheets and screamed. He screamed and screamed until his voice was hoarse, and the fabric below him was drenched with sorrow and regret. 

As the room grew darker, so did Remus’ thoughts. His breathing was shallow now, thoroughly worn out by the fear, the shock, the anger, the overwhelming sadness, and everything in between.

He thought he would’ve become numb to the pain by now, after all the other horrors he had faced in the past. Oh, how _wrong_ he was. He didn’t think he would ever be able to recover from this. How cruel could fate be, to rip them apart almost as soon as they had found each other again?

Two years had not been enough to make up for twelve. 

There hadn’t even been a body. No solid proof that he had left. Nothing to hold on to.

Remus wanted to blame Harry. He wished he could. If Harry had contacted the Order, contacted him, at least _used_ the mirror, then maybe Sirius would still be alive. He and his friends wouldn’t have rushed into the Department of Mysteries, wouldn’t have had to fight the Death Eaters, wouldn’t have needed the Order to step in. And Sirius would _still be alive_.

He wanted so badly to blame Harry, but he couldn’t.

If there was one person who had been as broken, as crushed as he had been when Sirius had fallen through the veil, it was Harry. Objectively, he knew that Harry was justified in rushing to the Ministry as soon as he had had the vision. When Arthur had appeared in his dreams, it had been a mere matter of minutes that determined whether he would live or die. Remus knew that Harry was particularly prone to making impulsive decisions, but he believed that if Harry had wanted to take matters into his own hands, he had been sure it would be the right choice back then.

But of course, it hadn’t been. Nothing would change the fact that Sirius was gone now. Hearing Harry’s screams of agony had been the single, most heartbreaking thing he ever heard in his thirty-six years of life. He was certain that those screams would haunt his nightmares for as long as he continued to live. Remus had barely managed to hold Harry back from running in after Sirius, but had it been up to him, he would’ve dived right in without a second thought.

What was the purpose of living, if Sirius wasn’t there to be with him?

Remus didn’t know how long he lay there, paralysed by all the _what ifs_.

_What if_ he had believed in Sirius back in 1981? _What if_ he had at least gone to see him in Azkaban over the twelve years, even if it had been to shout and scream at him for betraying them? _What if_ he had taken his Wolfsbane potion in 1993? _What if_ he had been firmer in stopping Sirius from going to the Department of Mysteries? _What if_ he had been able to pull Sirius out of the way in time?

There were so many _what ifs_.

Remus just wished he had gotten the chance to say _I love you_ one more time.

-

Six hundred and eighty-three days later, he found himself lowering his wand. 

“ _So this is goodbye_ ,” he murmured to himself for the final time, letting the blackness consume him.


End file.
